A Casual Encounter

A subtle breeze cuts through the heat of late spring, making for as pleasant a day as Paul could have hoped for. He saunters down the familiar park path that winds its way down the hill and hugs the curve of the pond, shielding his eyes from the midmorning sun as he seeks out his regular bench. Nestled in a cove of pine trees with a great view of the duck-dotted pond, it's the perfect location for him, a spot that he seeks out week after week on lazy weekend mornings.

Paul settles himself onto the slick, well-worn wood seat and goes about arranging himself appropriately. The newspaper is plunked down next to him, the business section isolated and brought to the top. He retrieves his newsboy cap from his back pocket, unfolds it and slips it into place on his head. His ex-wife had always hated this hat, telling him often and emphatically that it made him appear older than his years, but he insisted that it gives his conventional look a rakish touch.

Absently he unfolds the paper while looking out over the rest of the park, taking in the frisbee-chasing dog and his owner across the pond, the pair of joggers struggling up the hill, the men, like him but older, taking up space on the benches in the distance. A quiet day overall, the kind he prefers.

He snaps the paper into position and sets to leisurely perusing the dry text, though he can't help the way his gaze wanders up to note the passersby on the path in front of him, especially when those passersby happen to be of the female persuasion. He may be in his 40s, but that doesn't mean he can't still look and maybe even hope. He tries not to hope too much, though, and always returns to reading about the strength of the dollar.

Maybe he could have stood to read a little less and hope a little more, though, because he doesn't even see her walk up. She's peeling back the top corner of his newspaper before he even notices her, despite her striking appearance, with that unnaturally red pixie cut and the multiple little hoops lining the edge of her ears. She's young, college-aged at least but baby-faced in a way that makes her seem innocent despite clear attempts to try and roughen her exterior. She stands there smiling, a cryptic little thing, while she sizes him up, her blue eyes taking in his square jaw and distinguished nose, but also his wrinkles and rather thin mouth. Self-consciously, he clears his throat. How utterly boring he must seem to her.

After another second, he puts on his best debonaire tone to say, "Hello there."

She doesn't answer. Of course, she doesn't answer, that's how these things go. He knows enough to expect that but he's still thrown off a bit by it, unsure of how to proceed. She helps him out at least, taking the paper from his hands altogether and letting it fall haphazardly to the side. With a single finger, she tweaks the bill of his cap and then brazenly climbs into his lap, her summer skirt spreading over his legs as she straddles him.

It worked. He can't exactly believe it even now, but it worked. Ever since his divorce was finalized, he had been putting up these Craigslist ads and sitting here on this very bench in this very same situation every Saturday, waiting for some woman, any woman, to take him up on his offer. A nice fast fuck right out in the open. He's always had a bit of an exhibitionist fetish, but with his rigidly modest wife, there was never much of a chance to indulge it. It was part of the reason she left him, actually. Of course, he never anticipated that his little ad would work, not really. What chance did his rather gentlemanly request for a fun public fuck have in with all the many lewd dick shots and poorly worded solicitations from 20-something "studs?" But he figured why not try all the same, and live out at least a fraction of a fantasy in the process. So each week he would post that he would be waiting on this bench, at this time, holding a newspaper and wearing his brown houndstooth cap, for anyone looking for a quick public tryst.

And now the tryst is right here, sitting in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning her round face, smooth and pale, against his. She seemed almost waifish standing there in front of him, but her petite frame is pleasantly solid under his wandering hands, with some delicious substance to her hips, her ass. Her plump lips teasingly engage his as he gropes southwards and he anxiously returns her kiss. He lets her be the first to offer tongue, but meets it hungrily when she does, daring to press his cock against her with a rock of his hips. When there's no rebuke from her, his hands venture further and fumble under her skirt, where he finds, thank all that is holy, she's not wearing any underwear.

He lets his fingers work the magic he learned during his 20 years of marriage and casts a glance over the woman's shoulder at the park at large. Everyone in sight is ignoring them so far. They're just a couple making out on a park bench, after all. The cops usually don't get called until things have progressed much further.

She grinds against him, in time with his persistent stroking, the moan in his ear pulling his attention fully back to her. He drops his mouth to her neck, nibbling gently at the point where her neck meets her shoulder. And then again not so gently, when he feels her shivering, rocking reaction. He gets his reward in the form of her reaching down, steadily unbuckling his belt and yanking open the fly of his pants.

He's already hard when she pulls his cock out but her small hands expertly running the length of it bring him close to bursting. He wraps his hands gently over her upper arms, stalling her for the quick second it takes for him to scope out the area once again. No one near enough, those in sight occupied with their own lives. It's now or never.

Paul fishes a condom from his pocket and tears it open with his teeth, still too pragmatic to risk a random bareback encounter. He takes control of his cock again and slides the thing on before grabbing a handful of ass on either side and sliding her forward. She seems to expect nothing less from him and wriggles eagerly into place when he pulls, lightly biting her lip in anticipation. She seems to enjoy the anticipation a little too much, though, because she pauses there, pussy poised teasingly on the tip of his rubbered cock.

"Now," he rumbles, fingers digging in at her hips and urging her downward.

She just grins right back, seeming to thoroughly enjoy the rise she's getting out of him. With slow, devastatingly slow purpose she lowers herself onto him, resisting every one of his restrained attempts to thrust himself deeper. He lets out a heavy, inadvertently held breath when she's finally eased all the way down, when his cock is buried in the tight warmth of her pussy. With practiced ease, she begins to move her hips in small, deliberate circles, just slow enough to keep strangers' eyes from figuring them out too quickly.

With her doing most of the work and his contribution limited to the occasional slow-arching thrust into her, his hands find other occupation. The neck of her tank top is low but he lowers it further to free her braless breasts. They're small, just enough to conform to the cup of his palm as he fondles them, but he can't remember having felt something so soft and supple in his entire life. When he tilts forward to touch her erect brown nipple with his tongue, she moans and loses her rhythm for a moment. Having found her weakness he seals his lips over the entire thing and sucks, tongue running lightly around its rim to elicit more of those moans.

She seems blissfully unaware of the surrounding park, but Paul surfaces momentarily to assess their situation, peering first across the pond and then up the nearby path. It's there that he sees something to give him pause, a couple his own age on a leisurely stroll in their direction.

With a grunt, he utters an urgent, "Come, come," into her ear and strains into her motions, thrusting more heavily. He spots the woman of the couple look their direction and experiences a sudden surge of both fear and arousal at the increased attention.

In a spark of inspiration, he runs a hand up to her breast again and takes her nipple between forefinger and thumb, giving it a hearty squeeze as he bucks up into her. "They're watching us now," he whispers right next to her ear, lips brushing against the lobe. "Just now realizing that we're fucking. The woman looks startled, horrified, she's leaning in to say something to her husband. They stopped, they're just staring. Staring at you and that glorious ass of yours." The hand that's bracing on her hip reaches down to yank her skirt up, exposing her skin to the breeze and shocked gazes alike.

He sees out of the corner of his eye that her eyes are closed and she's biting the corner of her mouth in an attempt to keep herself quiet. Even then, she can't help the little groans that escape her as she reacts to his sharper thrusts, as she quickens the sway of her own hips. She cries out shortly as she climaxes, then catches herself and reins herself back to heavy, punctuated gasps, her fingers snatching harshly and clutching at his shirt.

Coming back down, she shoves herself on him in a sinfully sloppy kiss, the touch of her tongue combining with her forceful grinding to make him to come as well. He's lost for a moment, head dropped forward onto her shoulder. He could stay there forever.

With a nudge from her he straightens up and regains his senses, turning to meet her eye. "They still there?" she asks quietly, her voice higher-pitched than he would have imagined.

After a quick look, he confirms with a nod. "The guy's on his phone now."

"Better be quick then," she says, already pulling off of him, finding her own feet again and straightening her skirt as she walks.

Hurriedly, he tucks himself back in, condom and all, and zips up, standing to follow her. She's already around the back of the bench before he catches up to her and snags her wrist. Already cursing himself for being too much of a sap, he utters a hushed but heartfelt, "Thank you," and flattens her against him one last time. He has to reach down farther now, to kiss her square on the lips and to cop a final feel of her bare ass.

She kisses him back, pressing her tits against him while she does, but when they separate she laughs - probably at him - and hustles off, beating a path through the wall of trees and out to whatever's on the other side.

Paul himself leaves the scene of the crime as it is, abandoning newspaper and condom wrapper for the couple on the hill and the police to sort out. Off he walks, hands in his pockets, lips puckering into a whistle as he strides as quickly but nonchalantly as he can around the bend of the pond and out of the park.